


What Ships Are For

by mwestbelle



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Community: bandombigbang, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-30
Updated: 2011-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-21 23:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwestbelle/pseuds/mwestbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>A ship is safe in a harbor, but that's not what ships are for.</i> -William Shedd</p><p>Gerard is most concerned when he finds that, while away at university, his father has taken in a new ward of his own brother's age. But upon his return home, he finds the young man to be particularly enchanting; unfortunately, according to the High Society he lives in, not only is Frank entirely too poor to be considered, but they might as well be brothers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Ships Are For

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: vague historicalness, manpain
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who listened to me talk about this and made me sit down and actually write it ♥ Thanks to [anoneknewmoose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/anoneknewmoose/pseuds/anoneknewmoose) and cool_rain_kiss for being fantastic sounding boards and betas ♥
> 
> (Fanart and mix at [the masterpost](http://mwestbelle.livejournal.com/161494.html); originally posted June 21, 2010.)

_Father_ , Mikey’s letter said, _is being charitable again._ Gerard smiled and turned the page over. Mikey’s letters always ran marvelously long, far more verbose than Mikey ever was in person, even with him. This was already the fourth page of his neat black scratches; Gerard always took his tea while reading Mikey’s letter. He could practically hear Mikey’s voice as his eyes flicked over the page, and he’d just received a parcel from home with a selection of his favorite teas. It was almost like sitting in their own parlor, feet tucked up under him with Mikey only a few feet away in his own chair, instead of the miles and ferry ride that parted them now.

 _I suspect he thinks me to be lonely, for he has procured a new brother for me._ Gerard squinted at the word on the page, trying to discern if an inkblot had somehow altered it, making it seem like something that obviously could not be. It was written just as neatly as any other part of the letter, and he was forced to accept that it was actually there and read on. _He probably thinks that with a new source of entertainment in the house, I will no longer miss you as I do. This is, of course, ridiculous. I miss you desperately, and though the young man seems to be of a good sort, he is hardly a replacement for you. There is no such thing._

The next paragraph began with a description of a festival held at one of the neighboring estates, but Gerard skimmed it, scanning for more information. It was finally offered to him in the rather humorous tale of how this new addition, who appeared to be called Frank, had nearly fallen into the duck pond. _He may only be the son of a clerk,_ Mikey wrote, _but he has twice the sense for mischief than even my dear Lord Wentz (honestly, Gerard, do not roll your eyes so, you know that it’s quite unbecoming.)_ Gerard was only rolling his eyes a little, however, because he was too distracted by the rest of the letter to be properly disapproving.

The letter concluded with Mikey’s usual farewells and exuberant affection ( _I hope you will make it home for Christmas, as I know there shall not be as fine a roast without you._ ), but all Gerard could see was that word. _Brother._ It was one that he was exceedingly familiar with, of course. Every letter he and Mikey sent to each other was peppered with it, signed with _Your beloved Brother_. But now brother was referring to an entirely different person, a man (boy, really) that Gerard had never even met. His classmate William could spend hours poring over literature or poetry, studying the meaning of each word in turn, the implications therein and its effect on the reader. Gerard was no scholar of words (or much of a scholar at all, to be strictly accurate), and he was content to accept the faint distaste and hint of nausea that rose in his throat when he saw Mikey referring to another boy as brother.

He placed the letter carefully on the side table next to his tea, and rose, shoving a hand back through his hair. Part of him wanted to write back immediately, have the letter in the post by the morning with all the questions he’s brimming with. But it would take days for a response, perhaps even weeks if the postmaster had a whim and Mikey was lazy with his pen. He might as well take time to gather his thoughts; the pub would be open, because it was always open, and one of their dark brews would certainly calm him. A few more would make him forget that anything at all is wrong, and he would dearly love to have his mind cleared of all this nonsense. It would do him no good to be hasty, especially not in so delicate a matter.

Decision made, he left the letter next to his teacup, going to his wardrobe to pull on a jacket and scarf instead. He wrapped the long blue scarf (knit by the Lady Elena, god bless her soul) twice around his neck and left the ends to hang against his chest. At home, a gentleman would always tuck the ends of his scarf into his jacket, but the students all left them to go free. It was a small rebellion, and a foolish one, he knew, but he still ran his thumb over the fringe on the end, smoothing it over his breast, and smiled.

*

Mikey’s letters kept coming through the months, and piece by piece, he learned more about this strange clerk’s son, Frank. His father had worked in one of Lord Way’s offices, and had been something of a personal friend, though of course they never met on social purposes. A clerk may not have been a chimney sweep, but it was still hardly of the social caliber the Ways enjoyed. But Lord Way and this Mr. Iero had developed enough of a rapport, apparently, that when Mr. and Mrs. Iero met with an unfortunate fever, Lord Way could not sit by and watch the son be swept off to an orphanage or, more likely, onto the streets. Orphanages didn’t care much for boys nearly of age, which Frank was. Almost old enough to be on his own, but not old enough to support himself without ending up in the gutter, the perfect age for Lord Way to snatch him up.

He seemed to be an alright type, at least according to Mikey’s accounts. Mikey liked him, at least, which was not precisely a stunning commendation (one only had to look at Mikey’s continued acquaintance with Lord Wentz and Count Saporta to know his taste in companions was far from unimpeachable). But it was a good sign, a better sign than Mikey disliking him would have been.

According to Mikey’s letter, Frank was quite clever, for a clerk’s boy. He had quick fingers and a quick wit, a fast and light laugh. Truthfully, he sounded like someone Gerard wouldn’t mind the acquaintance of. But Gerard was selfishly, childishly against the addition to his family. They had done perfectly well on their own, first the five of them when his grandmother was alive, and now the four. If it were to be five again, he had imagined it would be through a wedding, not another boy to support.

His own letters were fairly dull in response. There were only so many tales of the pubs, of his professors who threw books out the windows in a sudden rage. He tried to send Mikey stories of the backstreets, where all manner of favors could be purchased, written, of course, in tight code perchance his mother should pick up the letter. But Mikey had seemed rather disinterested, for which Gerard blamed Lord Wentz and Count Saporta entirely. His life at the university was fascinating to him, but when he put pen to paper, he found that very little of what he did was of any interest to anyone else. When he first discovered this, he was most distressed and wrote a great deal on the nature of life, the importance and transience of it. He broke an inkwell in his furious scribbling, only to toss it into the fire later. Instead, he started sending Mikey letters that comprised of a brief greeting and pages of ink drawings. Sometimes he included a caption or two, like _This man was arguing philosophy with a wooden duck on the wall_ or _The river at sunset, when the lovers come out._

It made him feel almost like his thoughts were clearer, in the little scribbled pictures. Sometimes they smudged in his pockets before he was able to send them to Mikey, but he never minded much. Mikey enjoyed them immensely, and this, he thought, really communicated what his university life was like better than his words ever had. He wished he could ask Mikey to draw him pictures of what was happening at home, of what Frank looked like, acted like. But Mikey could hardly form a circle without a great deal of guidance, and Gerard knew it wouldn’t tell him anything. All he could do was wait.

*

The next time Gerard came home was at Christmas. He had hoped to make his way back before then, but schoolwork (and, more often, social obligations, adventures of all sorts) kept him away from the ferry. But at Christmas, the flats emptied, apart from a few scholarship students, and Gerard took the dull gray ferry ride back across the channel. His father’s coach was waiting for him at the dock, and he shook hands warmly with Matthew, a footman he’d always been particularly close to, before climbing into the coach while Matthew loaded his trunk onto the back of the coach. The rattle of cobblestones under the wheels was familiar even at school, but the port fading away to rolling hillsides buried in snow was uniquely _home_.

They passed the stand of trees, now dark and naked against the cold, that marked the start of his father’s lands near dinnertime, and then it was only a matter of time before the Way manor house was looming up against the twilit sky. The house was just as Gerard remembered it, of course; it had hardly changed in decades. It was as impressive, Elena had always said, as it was in the days of _her_ grandfather. They were already prepared for Christmas, obviously; Gerard could see the twinkle of candles in every room, stretching all the way up the windows, which meant his mother’s beloved trees were already festooned with buntings and treats and lit by hundreds of tiny white candles. Matthew stopped the coach in front of the grand doors, and Gerard tipped his hat to him as he drove around to the back to unload the luggage. He climbed the front stairs, careful to avoid the icy patches. At the top of the stairs, he looked back at his footsteps in the snow.

He felt the heat first, and he felt the light and Mikey’s embrace in the same moment, hardly an instant after the door was flung open.

“Calm down.” Gerard laughed. He held Mikey close for a moment before ruffling his hair and pushing him back. “I promise I’m no ghost.”

“A ghost indeed,” Mikey mumbled, looking up at Gerard. Gerard reached forward and used his index finger to push Mikey’s spectacles up his nose, grinning further at his indignant sound. “I only hoped to be sure you hadn’t become too much of a lush at university to find your way to our door.”

“Oh, I certainly have. Matthew had to corral me like a spooked horse,” Gerard said. Mikey looked no different and entirely different in the same moment. He was taller than he’d been, his face even more angular, but his mouth was still the same slash and his hair was parted in precisely the same place. He peered at him for a moment before pulling back into another tight embrace. He pressed his cheek against Mikey’s ear, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’ve missed you, little brother.”

“I missed you.” Mikey patted his back, fond, and they parted. “Come along. Mother is waiting, you know.”

“Of course.” Gerard smiled and followed Mikey into the house. It was warm, bright, just as he’d hoped. There were pine boughs with cheery red bows along the banister, and every candle seemed to be particularly _merry_. The Lady Way was in the dining room, supervising the maids setting the table. When Gerard entered, she patted the shoulder of the maid adjusting all the utensils, and came to him, arms open.

“Mama.” He embraced her tightly. She smelled of lavender, even in the middle of all this snow a breath of spring. She forced half of his breath from his lungs before pulling back far enough to kiss his cheeks and forehead.

“Darling, we’ve all been waiting for you.”

“I’ve been waiting to be here,” Gerard laughed, reaching down to take his mother’s hands and squeeze them. “You have no idea how fine it is for it to be Christmas, and to be at home.”

“You’ll stay with us the whole holiday, I hope?” Her smiles was so bright that Gerard hated to contradict her. He kept her hands in his, rubbing his thumb over the backs.

“I want to, Mama, but I promised Raymond I’d see him before the year turns.”

“Then why can’t he come here?” His mother pursed her lips, frowning. “He knows he’s always welcome in our home.”

“I’m sure he feels very welcome,” Gerard said, low and soothing. “But he has his house to run. He’s not just a lackadaisical student like myself. Please, Mama, don’t be cross.” She frowned up at him for another long moment before smiling a little. Gerard pulled her closer and kissed her forehead. “I promise I’ll miss you even more each moment I’m away, after having this taste of home.”

“I hope you’re keeping that silver tongue to yourself at school,” his mother said, with a little smirk. “Or you’d be sure to have a few dozen fiancées by now.”

“You would be the first to know, Mama.” Gerard leaned in and allowed her to kiss his cheek before stepping away. “And where is father?”

“Oh, you know.” Lady Way shook her head, and her impressively coiffed cloud of blonde hair stayed neatly in place. Gerard was never sure how she managed it, though he suspected it involved a small army of maids. “He thinks that the world would cease to spin if he spent an evening outside his office.”

“Well, he has a lot of work.”

Lady Way scoffed. “If I didn’t interfere, I don’t doubt we wouldn’t see him for months at a time.”

“And that’s why he’s so lucky to have you.” Gerard laughed when his mother gave him a flat unamused look that he saw so often from Mikey. “Will he join us for supper, at least?”

“I’ll do my best,” she said. “He barely took a moment to see to the doctor, you know, much less—“

“Doctor?” Gerard frowned, looking between her and Mikey, who had wandered off to snack on some of the cheeses the staff had set out while they’d been talking. “Is he unwell?”

“Oh no, you know your father, he hasn’t been ill a day in his life.” Lady Way shook her head. “It’s the boy. He’s. Well, you know how that type can be.”

In the rush of returning home, Gerard had forgotten that there was something _new_ here. The household was not the one he remembered, not with another member of it, and he bit his lip. “He’s sickly, then?”

“Dreadfully so.” His mother clucked her tongue, disapproving and sad. “It’s a wonder the fever that took his father didn’t carry him off as well. If anyone on the staff so much as sniffles, he’s back in bed.”

“That sounds awful.” Gerard frowned. “What about now? Will I be seeing him?”

“The doctor said he ought not have visitors.” Lady Way shook her head. “I don’t want you to catch whatever it is that’s gotten him, not on your holiday. Give it time, we’ll see how he is in a few days.”

In a few days, the mysterious Frank was still confined to his bed. The doctor told Gerard that he was better off staying out of the room, both for his own health and for the patient’s.

“His lungs aren’t good,” he said, giving Gerard a gentlemanly nod that made him feel far too grown. He still remembered when the doctor kept licorice drops in his pockets to keep Gerard quiet during visits to check on Mikey, who had been a sickly child as well. “It’s surprising he’s made it this far, coming from the background he does.”

“I’m sure,” Gerard said. He peered at the closed door to what had always been a guest bedroom. As far as he was concerned, it still was. “I suppose I couldn’t go in, even for a moment?”

“I don’t want you getting sick.” The doctor shook his head and shook Gerard’s hand before he left. Gerard waited outside the door until the doctor had been escorted back down to his carriage, then he opened it, turning the knob as slowly as possible. He had a great deal of practice in sneaking into rooms of the house; one picked up such skills as an elder brother.

The room was dark, the curtains fully drawn, and he could just barely make out a dark head against the pillow, a little puff of sweaty hair emerging from the thick covers. He could hear labored wheezy breathing, and he closed the door just as slowly as he opened it. Frank was obviously quite ill, and he didn’t need Gerard disturbing him. He thought it would be much preferable to meet under better circumstances. He knew that he would be mortified to meet someone for the first time while in such a state, so he would refrain from inflicting that upon Frank. Of course, if Frank succumbed to his illness, then Gerard would never have met him at all.

That was a sobering thought, and one that Gerard would rather not contemplate. He left the corridor, returning to the salon, where his mother was taking her tea with several old friends who he knew would be delighted to see him.

*  
After the holidays had mostly passed, Gerard repacked his traveling case and did his best to ignore his mother’s disapproving gaze. The rest of his trunks he had packed and sent back to school, so he could depart directly from Raymond’s estate on his return trip. He gave Mikey a solemn handshake goodbye, and then a tight embrace, and promised to be better with his letters. The pocket watch he’d purchased as a Christmas and welcoming gift for Frank was still in its box on the mantle, waiting for Frank to be well enough to open and enjoy it. It made him feel strange, leaving it just sitting there, but there was hardly anything else he could do with it. He kissed his mama goodbye, and boarded the carriage, driven not by Matthew this time, but a groom he suspected was new. The ride was not too long, and he settled in for a bit of a rest so he would be ready to interact as soon as he was with his friend again.

He arrived at Ray's estate early enough that there were still men outside, working to drag in the lumber that had been felled by the weight of snow on the trees. It was easy wood to access with the least work possible, and Gerard raised his hand to wave. One of the men raised his own hand in response, and Gerard knew that under the sleeve of his coat, his arm was huge and probably tanned from work in the summer. Ray's arms were like that, had been since he was a young man working on his own father's lands. The Toro family was not so well-off as the Ways, but Lord Way had made a personal friend of Mr. Toro. He supported him as much as he could, buying a percentage of Toro's harvest every year to be served at Way Manor.

It was then that Gerard and Ray had met, when they were both mere boys. Gerard was a tiny pale thing, of course, and Ray darker, already strapping at ten. They played while their fathers talked business, running through the house and being quite a fright for the maids who were tasked with looking after them. Ray came along most autumns, and as he and Gerard grew, so did their friendship. Mr. Toro had passed when Ray was only fifteen, but he refused all of Lord Way's offers to take him in or at least send a steward out to help with the estate. (Now, Gerard wondered why he had been so surprised to learn that his father had taken on a ward. He'd always had a soft place in his heart for the children of his friends, even if they could never be claimed as acquaintances to Society. It was probably a wonder that he and Mikey weren't raised with a herd of "brothers.") Ray ran the place himself, and did a damn fine job of it, according to Lord Way. Gerard didn't much follow the business of growing and selling, but Ray had done quite well for himself. The ancestral Toro home, still on the lands from before the family had fallen into such times, had been refurbished by the time they were seventeen, rebuilt to a fine enough state that Ray lived and entertained in it. He also had his guests stay, and that was what Gerard intended to do.

The carriage stopped in front of the gates, and Gerard hopped out, following the footsteps away from the front door. Only the most formal guests entered through the big mahogany doors Ray had had replaced; friends knew that he was probably out back in the small guesthouse behind the place. It had originally been servant's quarters, and attached to the rest of the house, but when the building fell into disrepair, the corridors joining those quarters to the main house had been among the first to collapse. Instead of reconnecting them, Ray had them finish off the main house and the guesthouse separately, giving himself a private space to work, and somewhere for his most treasured guests to stay.

Gerard didn't bother knocking on the door; no one would answer. Ray preferred not to have servants underfoot while he worked, claiming that it made him uncomfortable to be followed around as though he didn't know which foot was which, and if he was working, he'd be too enraptured to even hear someone at the door. He tapped his boots against the stoop, clearing off as much snow as possible before he entered, heading past the staircase to the back of the house. The room at the back had a big window looking out over the lake, and that was where Toro conducted his business. The lake was frozen now, but in the summertime there were ducks and cattails and all manner of life going on there. The door was partially ajar, and Gerard rapped on it only to announce his presence. He didn't wait for an invitation, and pushed the door open, grinning to find Ray just as he suspected: at his desk.

"Gerard!" Ray looked up from a half-crumpled bit of paper and beamed, smile huge and welcoming as always. He stood to clasp Gerard's hand, shaking it hard before pulling him in to clap his shoulder too in a makeshift embrace. "You made it."

"I promised you I would." Gerard smiled, squeezing Ray's hand before releasing him. "I had to drag myself out from underneath Mama's foot; you owe me for that."

"It's for your own good, you know." Ray laughed and turned back to his desk, adjusting some of the papers into makeshift piles. "You've been going to university how many years now, and you still answer to your mother?"

"You seem to forget," Gerard said, holding up a finger in imitation of one of his professor's. "That my mother is, in fact, _my_ mother. The impenetrable will of Lady Way will always hold sway."

"I'm sure, I'm sure." Ray chuckled to himself, shaking his head, then came back to face Gerard, once his things were arranged to his liking. "How long will you be staying with us?"

"At least the week. It depends on the weather. I'll be leaving for school from here."

"You certainly did fight your way out from under that neatly sharpened heel, didn't you?" Ray grinned over at Gerard. "How did you get her to agree to that?"

“I didn’t really ask permission, I suppose.” Gerard shrugged. “She was not pleased, though.”

“You’re a rebel, Gerard Way,” Ray said with an even wider grin.

“So I’m told.” Gerard laughed. “So I’m told.”

Ray’s home was a welcome middle point between the university and home. Everything seemed calmer here, simpler, but there was still enough of a staff that the slothfulness of school life didn’t sneak in. Of course, Gerard doubted Ray had ever been slothful in his life, a fine young man like him. Ray was a good man and a good friend, generous with his time, his home, and his wine. They spent many long nights after dinner sharing a few bottles and sitting by the fireside, reminiscing about when they were children and speaking on books they’d read (Ray had usually actually read more, but Gerard had the opinions of all his rather opinionated school friends to draw from.) It was too cold to go for rides—so said Gerard, at least. Ray still went riding every morning, while Gerard was still curled up beneath the blankets in his usual bedroom. He had never been much for horsemanship, and compared to Ray his skills paled even further.

The snow continued to fall through the week, so Gerard was forced to leave a few days earlier in order to make it back to the university in time, in case the ferry was unable to run. He didn’t much care, but he was almost through and it meant quite a lot to his mother for him to at least pretend to be a good student. He embraced Ray before leaving, patting his shoulder. “I hope you’ll be by the house soon. Mikey claims he hasn’t seen you since the last harvest. He thinks you might be dead.”

Ray wrinkled his nose and made an odd sound. “Did he say that?”

Not precisely, but Gerard just shrugged. “You should find out yourself. You’re still a family friend, you can visit without me.”

“I’ll consider it,” Ray promised, a bit of a smile quirking his solemnity. “When it gets warmer.”

Gerard laughed and embraced him again, briefly, before climbing into the carriage. He slept most of the ride back, uninterested in more of the snowy landscape.

*

The following months passed with unprecedented speed. There were lectures to attend, articles to read, papers to craft, but Gerard had never been much of a student. It was the name that mattered, as always: that of the school and his own. He need never mention how he’d been scored by his professors, only mention where he had attended, and in the same vein, all he’d ever needed was the Way name to make it through relatively unscathed. The most difficult part was packing up his messy little apartment, putting his solitary life into crates and trunks and shipping it back to the manor where he was to resume his duties as first born. He would miss the freedom and the privacy of university, though the comforts and finery of home were certainly not to be scoffed at. The most pressing finery was, of course, the ball his parents were throwing in honor of his homecoming.

Gerard had requested a masquerade and employed one of the finest mask makers in the city to craft his mask for the celebration. It was a beautiful thing, with plumes of feathers on one side and bits of glittering glass to catch the light, covered with shining satin. It would have been indistinguishable from any lady’s mask, but it was pure black. Black feathers, and black satin, with only the light reflected in little gems to brighten it. He’d brought it across on the ferry in a neat white box held on his lap, just in case. The mask wasn’t meant to be exposed to the elements, or so the craftsman had said. He left the mask on the vanity while he dressed, adjusting the voluminous ruffles of his cravat so some lace teased against the severe line of his black dress coat. The buttons at his waist and on the cuffs were big and golden, and he admired the glint of them in the candlelight. His hair—well, he wrinkled his nose and ran a hand through his hair until it stuck up at all angles. At a masquerade, at least, an unkempt appearance could seem purposeful. He checked his reflection once more before he left his room, descending into the ballroom.

He bypassed the grand entrance, skipping the staircase to enter from one of the side hallways. Knowing his father, he’d probably end up making some sort of speech later, and at least this way he could have a few moments to himself. Of course, he also quite enjoyed moving along the edges of the room, watching the colorful crowd. In all black, he felt a bit like a shadow, and he might have indulged the fantasy a bit, watching couples dance. He made his lap around the perimeter, coming towards the corner where the musicians were set up, playing a lively dance that had most of the guests crushed into the dance floor. Not all, however.

There was a young man standing near the musicians, small and slender but certainly visible in front of one of the columns. He wore a deep blue coat that seemed oddly familiar, and a white mask—simple and unadorned but for a bit of blue ribbon at the side where it tied around his dark hair. He wasn’t dancing, but he was moving, swaying and nodding, his eyes very bright, amber inside the blankness of his mask. Gerard smiled, taken by his enthusiasm, and made his way over, offering smiles and patting familiar shoulders as he passed. Closer, he could see the perfect shape of the young man’s lips and eyebrows, and the matching blue ribbon tying his hair back at the nape of his neck. His lips were slightly parted, shining at the center while his eyes moved. Gerard didn’t recognize him, but he wanted desperately to know him.

“Do you know this one?” Gerard bit his lip with a slight wince when the man started. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said, a charming flush rising in his cheeks. “And, uh, no. Not this one.”

“It isn’t too difficult.” Gerard glanced into the glittering crowd, whirling skirts and bright masks. He’d missed this while he was at school, the glamorous world he’d grown up in. It had been fun, of course, to play at suffering with his fellow students, bemoaning the lightness of their purses in the apartments their fathers paid for, spending their last coins on brandy. But it was about time he came home. The young man, he realized, had not responded, so Gerard cleared his throat. “But, ah, I avoid it as well. I find it rather exhausting. It ruins me for the other dances.”

“Oh, certainly.” The man smiled a little, and Gerard felt foolishly buoyed by his approval.

“There are so many dances, you know, quite worthy of my talents.” Gerard licked his lips, hoping that he could make the man smile brighter. Perhaps even laugh. Gerard had often been the clown when he and his classmates were in their cups, and he couldn’t deny the sense of accomplishment he felt having provoked someone to laugh. It was like sharing something. “The, uh, the minuet for one.”

The minuet was, of course, horrifically out of date, hilariously so, but the man just smiled weakly over at him. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer.”

“Ah. Well, no matter.” Gerard shrugged a little. “You needn’t be able to dance to enjoy the music.”

The man truly smiled at that, and Gerard flushed with pleasure. He had the most beautiful smile, one that went all the way to his eyes, making them practically glimmer beneath the mask. “The music is wonderful.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Gerard seized the commonality with desperation he didn’t quite understand. He had always considered himself to be personable, when in the mood for it, and mingling with his father’s guests was merely a part of his life. This, though. It sounded like the same polite chatter he’d made with a thousand guests over the years, but it felt like something else entirely. He would have spent his entire night coaxing a smile from those plush lips, if he only could.

“I see you’ve wasted no time.” Gerard looked back at his father, working his way across the floor. He was dressed as a jester, humorously, and seemed to be in quite a jovial mood. He clapped Gerard on the shoulder when he reached him, beaming, with laughter and good wine in his voice. “Couldn’t even wait to be introduced, did you leave all your manners at school?”

“Yes, well.” Gerard flushed darker, though he couldn’t help another smile. If there was a planned introduction, he must be someone important. A potential suitor, possibly, and that…that would be a fine thing indeed. He could imagine being kissed by those lips and getting lost in those eyes. “I can be impatient.”

“Impatient, indeed.” Lord Way squeezed Gerard’s shoulder and chuckled. “But understandably so. Understandable, my dear boy. A formal introduction is hardly necessary, though I’d hoped I could at least introduce you myself. Gerard, this is Frank.”

“Frank,” Gerard said, rapturously. It was a fine name, Frank. A fine, fine name indeed, though it could be odd to court a man named Frank when he even now had—

“it’s a pleasure,” Frank said, offering Gerard his hand, still smiling. “Michael has told me so much about you.”

Gerard took his hand out of instinct, and it all suddenly made sense. The coat was familiar, of course, it had been tailored to fit and embellished, but it was unmistakably one of Mikey’s old dress clothes, from before he’s shot up like a sapling. And the mask, white and simple, a rush order for one who wouldn’t quite belong at the party. There was no way he could have recognized this neat dark hair as the sweaty mop he’d seen on the pillow from the doorway when he’d visited over Christmas, but now he almost felt that he ought to. It was _Frank_ , and despite Mikey’s letters, Gerard had never imagined him as a fine young man. He was the same age of Mikey, of course, but when Mikey wrote of their father’s ward who was so often ill, he could only picture a small child with a runny nose. Not this, not him.

Lord Way squeezed his shoulder. “Gerard?”

Gerard was still holding Frank’s hand, and he dropped it with an apologetic smile. “Terribly sorry. I’m a bit fatigued from my journey.”

“Got off the ferry and came straight to the party,” Lord Way verified with a nod and a chuckle. “Some boys would give themselves a day to recuperate, but not my Gerard. He always wants his parties.” He patted Gerard’s shoulder once more before spying a business partner across the room. With a shout, he left the two men standing alone together again.

Gerard looked down at his shoes, the silence feeling awkwardly heavy. He looked back at Frank. “I am sorry. I fear I left half my mind at school.”

Frank nodded and smiled a little. “At least it wasn’t something important.”

Gerard had to watch him and his mild little smile for a long moment before asking, “Was that a joke?”

“It was meant to be,” Frank said, expression never flickering. “But if you have to ask, I suppose it wasn’t effective.”

“Oh, it was effective. I suppose I wasn’t expecting you to…joke.” Gerard made a face, because that sounded like he’d thought Frank was some sort of humorless prune. “With me, I mean.”

“What, no jokes with the future Lord of the Manor?” Frank arched one eyebrow and Gerard spluttered. Frank laughed. “I understand perfectly. We’re, uh, hardly acquainted, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended,” Gerard interjected. When Frank looked dubious, he licked his lips. “Certainly not. I…I quite enjoy a good joke.”

“Are you implying my joke wasn’t good?”

“ _No_ ,” Gerard said, brow creasing while he tried to figure out what he could possibly say to keep from offending Frank further. Frank just laughed.

“I’m sorry. You’re…” Frank paused, as if considering what he ought to say next. In the end he nodded to himself. “You’re precisely as Michael described you.”

Gerard wrinkled his nose. He didn’t much like feeling as though he was missing out on the most crucial information, and Frank certainly seemed to have the upper hand in that regard. “He describes me as a fool, then, I presume?”

“Not at all,” Frank said, suddenly frowning. “Is that what…do you think he would say that about you?”

Gerard didn’t, not truly, but he was petulant after being played a fool by this strange new entrant to his world. “How should I know? I’ve been away at university, I hardly even know him now. He has a new confidant, apparently?”

Frank pressed his lips together into a flat slash. He watched Gerard for a moment, then straightened, heels pressing together while he drew himself up into a formal gentleman’s stature. “It was a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Way. Welcome home.”

“Wait—“ Gerard said, but Frank had already walked directly into the dance, dodging nimbly between twirling ladies and their following gentlemen. He was gone in a moment, vanished behind the screen of the crowd. Gerard reached up and loosened his tie slightly. It suddenly felt far too tight.

*

The next morning, Gerard woke late, mostly recovered from too much wine and too many friends, and thought, _This is where I will wake up every morning for the rest of my life._ That was, of course, slightly untrue, as he certainly had plans to travel and make visits and he already had quite a reputation for falling asleep in the drawing room. But now that university had ended, Way Manor was his home. He would live here, a gentleman of leisure, until he became Lord Way. And then he would stay at Way Manor until the day he died. It was a sobering thought, and one that made him rather miss the slightly lumpy mattress in his flat at school. It had been _his_ in a way that was entirely different from this.

Ponderings of such a nature were hardly manageable on an empty stomach, so Gerard pulled on his dressing gown and slippers to head downstairs. There was a half-empty mug of coffee at the end of the table, so his father had already come and gone. There were a few cold foods laid out, fresh bread and some fruit, and Gerard took his seat, filling his plate and waiting for one of the maids to bring out a fresh plate of hot things.

Halfway through a mouthful of bread, he heard the servant’s door opening, and he turned expectantly. It was not, in fact, one of the maids. It was Frank.

Frank stopped when he saw Gerard, and stood still for a long moment. Gerard chewed his bread desperately, wondering if Frank would turn and leave again, like he’d done at the party the previous night. But after a moment of consideration, Frank continued forward and took a seat down the table from Gerard. “Good morning. I hope you slept well?”

It was so formal, so carefully measured. It was as though Gerard was Frank’s stodgy great-great-aunt, or some other stiff-necked relation. He swallowed the wad of bread, finally, and licked his lips to have a moment to collect himself. “I did. I needed a bit more than normal, I’m afraid. I might have enjoyed myself more than I ought.” It was an invitation, and Gerard could only wait to see if Frank would take it.

Frank was silent for too long, clearly considering his next statement. He leaned forward to select a bit of bread. “I’ve heard that’s quite normal for students at university.”

Gerard couldn’t help the easy smile that broke across his face. “Yes, I suppose it is. I’m not at the university any longer, though. I’ll have to adapt back to home life.”

“You’ll have to,” Frank repeated, his small sideways smile returning. It was just as handsome as it had been last night; more so, for without his mask, Gerard could see that the whole of his face was quite unfairly well formed. “Do you expect it will be a difficult transformation?”

“Well.” Gerard spread some jam across his next bit of bread. “I suspect I shall need some support in this trying time.”

“It’s a fine thing, then, that you’re back in the bosom of your family.” Frank kept a straight face only for a moment before snorting to himself. Gerard grinned broadly.

“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t make light of my great difficulties, my good sir.”

“Making light?” Frank choked a little on his laughter, rearranging his face into one slightly resembling concern. “Who makes light? Certainly not I, old man.”

Hearing Frank say “old man,” just like his father might, sent Gerard over the edge into laughter. Frank followed soon after, letting loose a giggle that might not have been out of place in a nursery. Gerard knew that he should be upset, he should be apathetic, but he couldn’t help but be simply charmed. He meant to apologize for offending Frank the night before, even though he had never intended any harm in what he said. But the maid came in, at last, with a platter of sausages. They smelled heavenly, and Gerard knew his mother had a hand in this. Every visit, he had degraded the foul, bland, and quite often limp sausages that were served at the café he and his friends liked to frequent at school. It had been so dire that she had sent a parcel of them along with him more than once; but his own skills with a pan were most humbling.

He took several, but Frank stuck with the fruit.

*

Gerard was in the library, composing a careful letter to a school friend. It was strange to communicate like this, words and perhaps a few little pictures, instead of wrapping himself in his coat and heading across the square. There was a comfortable silence in the house, the sort that felt almost like a blanket. It was tugged away with a chord that rang through the stillness, perhaps all the way through the clear air into the town. That chord was followed with another, and another, until it became a melody, slow and rich and sweet. It was a honeyed tune, and Gerard set his pen down under the paper, pushing away from his desk to go investigate. Elena had played piano, sometimes, but she played with the quiet neatness of a woman with culture instructed to her from a young age. This was unrestrained, strong and a little bit wild, unlike any music he’d heard in the house. It reminded him of some of the musicians he’d seen while at university, playing on streets or in pubs, but _better_. It wasn’t the most technically proficient playing he’d heard, but it had the most emotion. He’d never really understood about hearing emotion before, and he suspected that he never actually had.

The piano was in the sitting room, and the door was open, so Gerard only had to poke his head around the doorframe to see who was on the bench. It was Frank, and as soon as Gerard saw him, _of course_ it was Frank. Who else would play with that sort of freedom, as though no one was listening, no one judging? As far as Gerard knew, no one ever had.

Frank’s eyes were half-closed, lowered to look only at his fingers playing across the keys. He didn’t even notice Gerard until he hit the last long chords of the song and looked off to the side. He started when he saw Gerard in the doorway, then reached for the lid of the piano. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“I’m not disturbed.” Gerard frowned, and Frank smirked a little. “You aren’t disturbing me, I mean. Please, keep going.”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t want to be a bother.” Frank hadn’t closed the lid though, still watching Gerard closely.

“I’m serious. It’s not bother. Keep playing. I like to hear you.” Gerard smiled, hopefully putting Frank at ease. He wasn’t sure if it was successful, but Frank put his hands back on the keys, playing a few random notes, then ran through a scale. It send a pleasant shiver up Gerard’s spine. “How long have you been playing?”

“Not long.” Frank hummed along with the brief ditty he played, a light and tinkling one that ended after hardly a moment. “Your father thought I ought to have some sort of culture in my life. Piano seemed easier than watercolors.”

“I like watercolors,” Gerard said, then wrinkled his nose at how foolish he sounded. He wasn’t sure why he lost any ability to be charming or clear at all when speaking to Frank. “Art in general, I mean. The piano always escaped me. All the keys, I suppose.”

Frank shrugged one shoulder, playing another scale with the other hand. “I like it. The rhythms of it, it’s soothing. It’s…different, I suppose. Different from anything else I’ve done.”

“I suppose it would be.” Gerard flinched. “I’m sorry. I’m always doing that. I didn’t mean—“

“It’s fine.” Frank smiled a little bit and adjusted a cuff before starting to play, a lilting melody that danced up and down the keys. “You’re right. I’d never touched a piano before I came here. One like this, at least, not the type in a bar.”

“They’re fine things, I think.” Gerard listened to Frank for a long while, bobbing his head gently in time to the music. “Mikey used to play, sometimes. He wasn’t much better than me.”

Frank nodded, and pulled his hands back into his lap, leaving the keys silent. “I’m not used to someone watching. I didn’t think anyone could hear me.”

“I was in the library.” Gerard shrugged. He was starting to flush a little.“Just down the hall. But I enjoyed the diversion.”

“You’re welcome, then.” Frank smiled. “For the diversion.”

*

Gerard thought that perhaps he ought to spend more time with Mikey, considering that this was the longest he’d been with his brother in years. It had nothing to do with avoiding Frank, certainly, or the uncomfortably tender feelings that seemed to arise whenever he was in the same room. But it appeared that Mikey had adjusted to the absence of a brother as well.

“Who are you writing to?”

“None of your business,” Mikey said, holding up the side of the letter when Gerard tried to peer over at it.

Gerard huffed and sat back in his armchair. “I just don’t know who you could spend so much time penning letters to, now that I’m home.”

Mikey snorted and went back to writing. “You weren’t the only recipient of my letters, Gerard. Shocking though it may be, my life does not, in fact, revolve entirely around you.” Gerard sulked, folding his arms across his chest, until Mikey smirked a little down at the page and looked up at him, quirking one eyebrow. “Only partially.”

Gerard smiled, satisfied for a few moments, before his mood overtook him again. “I suppose I’m just bored. We should go out together.”

“You don’t like my friends, Gerard.”

“Surely you have friends besides that ridiculous Peter Wentz.” Gerard wrinkled his nose.

“I have many other friends, but _they_ are all friends with Peter,” Mikey said. “So you see the dilemma.”

“He’s an insidious louse,” Gerard grumbled, and Mikey just laughed softly, fondly.

“He’s one of those people, yes.”

Gerard rearranged himself in the chair, folding his legs up. He looked around at the books, but he didn’t much feel like reading. The scratch of Mikey’s pen was soft but constant, and he watched Mikey frown while he wrote. After a moment, Mikey paused, but didn’t look up. “Is there really nothing left to entertain you in the whole house?”

The whole house had Frank in it, who Gerard didn’t feel up to interacting with at the moment. Frank was…loud, most of the time, and demanding. It was best to stay clear of him, at least for a while. Gerard wrinkled his nose. “I’d rather stay here. If you don’t mind.”

“Suit yourself.” Mikey shrugged one shoulder. “But I suspect you’d do just as well in your own room. Frank is out for a ride.”

Gerard flushed, though he couldn’t be surprised. He’d always been painfully transparent to Mikey, and luckily, Mikey had seldom abused his talent. “Should he really be outdoors? He’s sickly.”

Mikey shook his head. “Don’t tell him that. He’s incredibly stubborn. You’ll figure that out.”

“Well, he won’t be staying long, will he?” Gerard kept his voice as clear and clean as possible, even though that was a useless exercise in front of Mikey. “He’ll be off to school of some kind, or a tour of the continent.”

“Not so far as I know,” Mikey said. “Now, if you’ve gathered enough gossip, stop snooping and let me write in peace.”

“Yes, brother,” Gerard teased, inclining his head and waving a courtly hand. “You shan’t see me for the rest of the day.”

“I shan’t see you for an hour,” Mikey said, looking up at him and smirking. “At which point you’ll get bored of your own company and seek out mine. I should be done by then.”

*

When Gerard realized he was in love, it was the only time he’d ever wished love would leave him be. At school, some of the other boys had sweethearts to talk about, sweet-lipped girls and sly-eyed boys they pulled close and wrote tragic poetry about, and swore about when they were all out at a pub. But whatever they felt for their darlings, it never struck Gerard as the same _trueness_ that he knew in novels and poetry. There was something real about that, beyond anything so pedestrian as walking together in the street or proposing marriage. It was a feeling that he desperately craved, one that was unlike what he’d ever felt. He longed for it, trying to describe it through words or pictures. The pictures got closer, pretty girls with soft white bosoms and copious amounts of hair and pretty boys with sharp jaws and a smooth, long neck. He’d never imagined denying that perfect otherworldly love, but this…

He sat across from Frank at the breakfast table, as was now their custom, eating eggs and toast with butter. Frank turned up his nose at the bacon and sausages and took an extra helping of strawberries, adding a thick dollop of cream on top from the blue patterned china dish. They were fresh, the first red crop of the season straight from the market this morning, and they left Frank’s lips and tongue stained sweet when he smiled, and _this_. This was poetry, this was a boy with lips that cried to be kissed, this was strolling in a street paved with sky. This was true, and Gerard would have given anything not to be in love him.

“My father used to buy strawberries,” Frank said. It sounded a little sheepish; he must have felt that he was being watched. He pushed one through the cream, still smiling a little. “He’d stop at the market on his way home from work, when the carts were closing, and get the last ones. We’d just dust them with sugar. Nothing like this.” He stopped, taking another bite, but Gerard waited for him to finish, wanting to chase the juice at the corner of his mouth. “It was good, though.”

“I’m sure they were delicious.” Gerard felt slightly better every time Frank spoke about his old family, shamefully. It was easier, knowing that Frank didn’t consider Lord Way his father, didn’t think of Mikey and himself as brothers. Perhaps that made Gerard’s affections the slightest bit less inappropriate, though nothing could make Frank richer or from a better family. They would never be matched, not even if Frank wasn’t his brother to the eyes of Society. Desperate to distract himself, from his thoughts and from Frank’s mouthful of strawberry, he said the first thing he could think of.

“Have you ever had pineapple?” Frank shook his head and Gerard turned his fork over in his hands, nervous habit. “One of my school friends…his father owned a shipping firm. He used to get things from all across the seas. He shared with us, sometimes. Pineapple, it’s…it’s sweet, but. Harsh, I suppose. Tangy. It’s quite good, like nothing else I’ve tried.”

“It sounds good.” Frank dipped another strawberry in the cream. “You, uh. The food here is wonderful. I didn’t think I’d ever get used to it. So fine and so much.”

“Have you? Gotten used to it?”

“I might have. I don’t know.” Frank took a careful bite, catching the excess cream on his tongue. Gerard dug his nails into his thigh. “It used to be insane, like Christmas supper at every meal. I could have strawberries with my tea, if I asked.”

Gerard nodded, though he could hardly understand. Even at school, there was his allowance. And when that had been frivolously spent, there were packages from home, full of treats and more money. And there were his friends, with _their_ allowances and their packages. Gerard had never eaten the remains, whatever was left on a seller’s cart at the end of the day. Never limited himself by what his parents could afford to have in the pantry. This was the proper way of things, and it was strange to imagine another way of life.

“It’s different,” Frank said, finally, with a sigh. He pushed his plate away, though there were still several strawberries and a generous helping of cream, even some egg and toast left.

“You won’t finish that?” Gerard frowned a little. He couldn’t imagine that Frank could leave so much food uneaten, when they had just spoken of how the freeness of food in the Way household was so foreign to him.

“I don’t need it,” Frank said, looking off and away from the table, as though he didn’t want to meet Gerard’s eyes.

“I suppose not.” It wasn’t until the maid came in that Gerard understood. She picked up his plate, scraped clean of all but a few crumbs of toast, and then fetched Frank’s half-full one. He saw her smile, flushing a little, with her head ducked, and he saw Frank smile in return. She cleared the dishes from the table, and Gerard remembered that the servants were generally permitted to have the leavings of a plate. He never would have considered that, and he felt suddenly stripped and quite boorish to see Frank so thoughtful. It was all the more reason to love him, which, of course, Gerard hardly needed.

*

In the fall, Ray came to deliver his harvest, just as his father always had. Gerard waited until Lord Way and Ray had finished conducting their business to greet him. Ray seemed so different like this, seriously discussing pricing, the conditions of the fields. Nothing like the beaming friend he knew. But after business was done, Ray was invited to stay for as long as he liked. He refused at first, of course, but Lady Way convinced him to stay at least overnight, to rest himself before making the trek back to his own lands. Ray joined them for dinner and seemed to take quite well to Frank. They joked together, and Gerard was able to watch the pair of them with wide greedy eyes. The line of Frank’s neck when he threw his head back and laughed, the lazy curve of his fingers around the stem of his wine glass; it was all more than Gerard thought he ought to be expected to bear.

Mikey was strangely quiet through dinner, and Gerard wondered if perhaps he was jealous that Ray was getting on so well with Frank. The pair of them had always been close, despite their age difference and the infrequent visits. Mikey wasn’t allowed to visit Ray with Gerard for propriety’s sake, of course.

Once the meal was over, however, Mikey gave Gerard an intense look that he couldn’t quite interpret. He and Mikey had always had something of a psychic connection, since childhood, and facial expression was usually more than enough to decode what the other was thinking. But this one, this he wasn’t sure about.

“May I speak to you?” Ray had extricated himself from the quiet conversation still occurring at the table, and leaned in close to Gerard. “In private?”

“Of course.” Gerard frowned, unsure what Ray would have to speak to him about that he couldn’t bring up in front of the rest of the family. He followed Ray to the library, closing the doors behind them. “What is it?”

“I wanted to ask you,” Ray said, frowning a little. He looked strange, frowning, Gerard hadn’t seen him without a big smile on his face in ages. He seemed to consider what he wanted to say, then change his mind again. Gerard looked out the window, where night had already fallen. The days were getting shorter and shorter again, and he realized that it was probably now past the anniversary of Frank coming under Lord Way’s guardianship. “Has Lord Wentz made his intentions clear?”

“What?” Gerard looked back at Ray, and in a moment he realized what Ray had said. “Which intentions? Because I think the one to stir up as much scandal as possible is abundantly clear.”

“No, I mean.” Ray sighed and ran his hand over the side of his hair. It was contained for the moment, gathered at the nape of his neck, but there were already a few curls making their way free. “Regarding your brother.”

“He intends to make Mikey as much a hedonist as he is, if that’s what you mean.” Gerard frowned a little. “What does it matter? Have you heard something?”

“Just.” Ray shrugged one shoulder. “The word is that he might be preparing to, uh, make an offer.”

“What sort of offer?” Gerard imagined Lord Wentz offering Mikey one of his devilish little hounds. That would be entirely unacceptable, of course.

Ray sighed, loudly. “An offer of _marriage_ , Gerard.”

“I. What? _Oh._ ” Gerard stared at Ray. “Marriage? Pete and Mikey? Where did you hear that?”

“I just hear things,” Ray said, holding up his hands. He was turning progressively more scarlet, and Gerard was fairly certain his hair was starting to curl tighter. “It’s not true, then?”

“No. No, it’s not true. Lord Wentz is. Well.” Gerard cleared his throat and leaned a little. “I heard from _Mikey_ that Lord Wentz is planning to make an offer to the younger Simpson girl.”

“That’s. Oh.” Ray nodded, like his question had been answered, but he was still biting his lip. “And what of, ah, the Count?”

“Gabriel?” Gerard wasn’t sure what this sudden interest in gossip had been spurred by, when Ray had never been much for the scandals and marriages of others before. “He’s been courting. Well. He’s been courting everyone, really, but my money would be on either young Nathaniel or Miss Victoria.”

“Ah. Good to know.” Ray nodded again and Gerard frowned over at him.

“Why are you so curious? I never thought you cared much for gossip.”

“I don’t!” Ray looked over a Gerard and seemed to realize in a moment that a simple interest in the goings on of others was a crucial part of Society, but without that interest, he must have another motive. He sighed, shoulders slumping. “I was just curious if, you know. If your brother had been spoken for.”

“Why?” Gerard asked blankly. Mikey’s status was hardly of much interest to Ray. He didn’t care about gossip, so the only reason it would matter would be if—

“ _Don’t_ ,” Ray said, sounding desperate. Gerard schooled his expression, pressing his lips together while he stared.

“You want to marry Mikey?”

“Keep your voice down,” Ray hissed, though the library doors were closed and everyone ought to still be enjoying their dessert. Including Mikey, of course.

“But, why?” Ray cleared his throat and Gerard cursed under his breath. “You know what I mean. I just. It’s a bit of a shock. I didn’t even know you were fond of him.”

“We’re, ah, fond of each other. I believe.” Ray flushed darker, but there was a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth now. “We’ve been corresponding for years. We’ve, uh, grown quite close.”

“I never knew,” Gerard said, feeling extremely foolish. He knew the power of Mikey’s letters, of course, he’d received them often enough himself, but he couldn’t believe one of his dearest friends and his brother had been carrying on this written affair the whole time.

“We didn’t want anyone to.” Ray made a face, wrinkling his nose. “It wasn’t a secret, I mean. Not at first, we were just bored. It gets lonely in my house, with just me.” Gerard had felt lonely for years, with the house full of people and family, so he couldn’t imagine how hard it would be to survive all alone. “But we kept writing and it got. Well, it got personal. Intimate, I suppose. Nothing untoward,” he was quick to say, offering his hands palms up, “nothing like that. Just. Emotional.”

“And you want to marry him, now?”

“I know I’m not wealthy.” Ray sighed and ran his hand over his hair again, setting more curls free. “I don’t have a title. I’m not—if there were other suitors, I know I wouldn’t be worthy of him. But if Wentz and Saporta aren’t going to make an offer, then. I love him. I can offer him that, at least.”

Gerard flushed too, a little embarrassed to witness such raw emotion from his friend but mostly deeply jealous. He could make no such declarations, have no such chance at his own love. His parents would argue, Gerard knew, and probably disapprove for a while. But Ray was a good man, growing in wealth, and a friend of the family just like his father had been. There weren’t any other offers for Mikey; he had never had much interest in suitors despite how much he liked to flirt, a mystery that seemed solved now that Gerard knew of his and Ray’s secret writings. Mikey’s look made far more sense now, and if Mikey loved Ray in return there was no question. They would be wed, eventually. He nodded a little and licked his suddenly dry lips. “You should. I mean. Offer, for him. You know he’ll accept you and I know my parents will.”

Ray beamed, and looked like his usual self again. Gerard had to be happy for him, no matter how much he wanted to wallow in self pity.

There was a knock on the library door and a moment later, Mikey poked his head in, looking between them. “Are you finished in here?” Gerard could tell how on edge he was, and he nodded, crossing in front of Ray to pat his shoulder.

“I think so.” He squeezed Mikey’s shoulder and pulled him gently closer so he was inside the library before leaving and closing the door behind him. The two of them deserved some time together without miles and a pen separating them.

*

The storm clouds were already in the sky when they went on their ride, dark and heavy with rain. Frank just laughed at them, lacing up his riding boots.

“You think you’ll melt in the rain, then?”

“That isn’t what I said,” Gerard grumbled, tying his own boots. Frank grinned up at him, looking through his eyelashes, and Gerard had to look out the window, up at the clouds. “We’ll probably get wet. That’s all I meant. You’ll get sick.”

“Not if we ride fast enough.” Frank beamed. He’d spent hours in the stables when he’d first been taken in, Mikey had written about it in his letters, whenever he wasn’t confined to bed. Gerard assumed that Frank felt comfortable there. It got him away from the pressure and the strangeness of the manor without it being thought strange. Every young man had some sort of fascination with his father’s horses, and it was understandable that a clerk’s son would be impressed by the Way family’s stables. But whatever the reason, all that time had made him quite the rider.

Gerard had never done particularly well with horses. He had a fat old pony as a child, of course, whom he’d loved dearly, but he had never been fond of too much time outdoors. He’d rode more in these last months with Frank than in the rest of his life. Ray would be quite impressed when he visited him again; Gerard’s lagging had always cut their rides short. Perhaps Frank would come along with him. Raymond would like him, Gerard was sure. Of course, he had a difficult time imagining that it was possible _not_ to like Frank. Frank was—

Frank was already on his horse, trotting out of the stable with a mad giggle. He rode a bay called Ephraim, who by all rights ought to have been too big for him to handle. Ephraim and Frank had an _understanding_ , or so the stable master said.

“Hold on,” Gerard cursed, finishing up his boots and going to take his mount from one of the hands. He was a black gelding called Oscar. He was a gift from his mother; Lord Way would have preferred to see his son with a finer steed, but Oscar was about the right speed for Gerard. That speed was, of course, rather slow, though he could usually manage something a bit faster if it was truly necessary. Once safely astride Oscar, Gerard took off after Frank and Ephraim focused on the path instead of the clouds gathering in a thick blanket across the sky.

There was no way that Oscar would ever catch up to Ephraim, especially not with Gerard at the reins. Luckily, Gerard knew where Frank was most likely headed. He rode down the path towards the river, then followed along the river until he spotted Frank and Ephraim up near the little stone bridge. Gerard and Mikey sat on that bridge for hours as boys, staring into the water, watching for frogs or perhaps a turtle—the greatest victory a boy could know. Frank was on the ground, stroking Ephraim’s neck gently. Oscar moseyed his way over to the two of them, losing any sense of urgency now that Gerard had Frank in his sights.

“Looking for frogs?”

“Hmm?” Frank looked over his shoulder, and Gerard reined Oscar in, bringing him to a stop.

“There are frogs in the river. Mikey and I used to catch them.” Gerard licked his lips. He knew that Frank knew the paths of the estate better than even Gerard did, and he always felt strange, relating a family story. Like he was trying to remind Frank that he didn’t belong, that he never would be part of their family. It was not his intention, of course, though he couldn’t bring himself to _want_ to make Frank part of the family. Part of the family meant that his feelings were far, far past inappropriate.

“I like to sit here,” Frank said, with a shrug, apparently oblivious to Gerard’s awkwardness. He looked out across the river. “When it isn’t about to rain, of course.”

“Of course,” Gerard echoed. He dismounted, taking Oscar’s reins more as a formality than anything else; Oscar was quite enraptured with a patch of grass that apparently was especially tasty. He came closer, to stand next to Frank. Not too close, but close enough that his heart thrilled in an entirely unwelcome way. “What do you think about?” Frank was silent and Gerard flushed, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry. That was inappropriate. It’s certainly none of my business.”

“No. It’s fine.” Frank looked over at Gerard. He looked almost tired, quiet and intense, and Gerard was overcome by an urge to touch him. They were close enough that a shift in the right direction could make their shoulders brush.

It was no surprise to Gerard that that was when the rain started. The first drop fell, hitting him squarely on the crown of his head, and before he could look accusingly up at the sky, the downpour was upon them. Gerard spluttered, fumbling to get back onto Oscar’s back, while Oscar gave him an unamused look. Frank, the wildling, whooped as loudly as any diving hawk, and somehow was already off, charging up the paths back to the stable on Ephraim’s back.

Gerard and Oscar made better time on the way back than the way out, because neither of them was interested in being stuck in the rain. Frank was waiting for him at the stable, and once he’d handed Oscar off to a hand, the pair of them dashed up the hill to the house. They slid a bit on the mud and wet grass, but made it inside through the servant’s entrance relatively unscathed apart from the rain. Gerard knew he looked like a drowned rat, and a rather demented one at that, with his hair all plastered against his skull, sticking to his forehead while he tried to blink raindrops out of his eyelashes. Frank, of course, looked nothing of the sort. He was just as wet as Gerard was, but there was something radiant about him, even when he was dripping against the stone floors. His hair had curled in the rain, so wet tendrils of it framed his face and teased over the back of his neck, and the thrill of the ride had brought out so lovely a flush in his cheeks.

“Come on,” Frank said, laughing again. Gerard was still in his reverie, and followed without question, trailing Frank up to his bedroom without even considering it until Frank started to fumble with his cuffs. “God, these things are worse than a frozen ink bottle.”

“What are you doing?” Gerard asked, askance.

“I just sent my things to laundry before we left,” Frank explained, finally managing to get one of his cuffs undone. “There’s no way they’ll be done now. I’ll have to borrow something of yours.”

“Oh,” Gerard said, feeling a bit numb. He watched Frank struggling with his vest for a few moments before he sighed, stepping forward. “For goodness’ sake, let me help. You’re leaving a puddle on my carpet.”

“ _You’re_ leaving a puddle,” Frank pointed out with a smirk, but he let his hands fall obediently to his sides. Gerard worked the wet fabric carefully and mechanically, not allowing himself to think for a moment about what he was doing. Frank shrugged out of his vest, and _of course_ , of course his shirt had gone translucent with the water. His cock stirred in his trousers, and who could blame him? He was almost touching Frank’s bare skin, tracing the line of his chest as he undid button after button. Gerard flushed, a dark rosy pink, and never let his eyes lift to Frank’s face. He kept them trained on the buttons, although he couldn’t help but glance at the vague shapes of Frank’s dark nipples under his shirt. He suspected that this was some heretofore unknown circle of hell, some heavenly torment that he’d brought upon himself with his wicked, unseemly lusts. He could not deny the way all moisture left his mouth as he reached the bottom of Frank’s shirt, his thumb brushing against the buckle of Frank’s belt, any more than he could deny that what he yearned for so desperately could never come to pass.

He stepped back, still flushed, and tucked his hands behind his back; he feared that if he did not, they might reach out without his permission, touch and stroke and tease and do all the things he knew he could not do. “You can handle the rest yourself, I hope.”

“I can,” Frank said. Gerard didn’t recognize the tone of his voice and chanced a look at his face. Frank was smiling, just one side of his mouth curled up, and his eyes were heavy-lidded, lashes dark. “Must I?”

“Must you what?” Gerard took another step back, and Frank took two steps forward, following him.

“Handle myself,” Frank said, voice so low it was almost a croon. Gerard shuddered all over and bit the inside of his cheek, trying to dissuade his cock’s entirely inappropriate interest in those words. Frank stepped forward again, and he was right in front of him, almost toe to toe. He was so close that Gerard could feel each hot puff of Frank’s breath against his chin, almost against his lips. He smelled so good, even wet. The rain had washed away the sweat of the ride, so all that remained was that fresh, damp, grassy smell over the smell of skin and hair and the oil Frank used on his face after he shaved. But Gerard would even have savored the smell of sweat. He was truly undone.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said, and he hoped the tremble in his words was only inside his own head. Frank smirked, which made him fear it wasn’t. Then Frank stepped forward again, so their toes did brush, so his nose was an inch from Gerard’s, and his lips…those perfect plush lips were so very close.

“I’m equally sure that you do,” Frank mumbled, and wet and dripping, bare-footed, with his soaked shirt hanging open, he kissed Gerard.

Gerard’s fantasies, his dreams, even the sketches that he burned afterwards so no one could ever know, had been full of this. Full to the brim, full to bursting, ever since he first laid eyes on Frank, he’d _known_. Living with him, speaking to him, laughing and knowing and arguing, all of that had cemented the original flame that told him he had to touch Frank. Touching Frank, he knew, would be all that made him complete. He could rest his hands on Frank’s waist right now, he could even slide his hands inside the shirt to touch bare skin. It would be so easy; Frank was here, right now, and he _wanted_. He wanted just as desperately as Gerard did, he could feel it running through him in the kiss, and Frank had to feel it too. Both of them had to be distressed when Gerard pulled away, panting.

“We can’t.”

“Of course we can,” Frank murmured with a little smile, nuzzling his nose against Gerard’s. “We just did. We should do it again.”

“No.” Gerard took a step back, and his entire body ached when he saw the smile slide off of Frank’s face, down to join the puddle of rainwater at his feet. “Frank, god, I. You know that I love you, you have to know that.”

“I know that.” Frank took a step, following him, starting to smile again. “I love you. Touch me.”

“Frank, no.”

“ _Touch_ me,” Frank repeated, and he sounded so needy that every fiber of Gerard’s being sang out to _touch_ , to obey. Frank let his fingertips rest at the center of his own chest, like an example, trailing them down to his navel, to the line dark hair that wanted Gerard to follow it down, down, behind Frank’s belt buckle. “Take me, use me. I know you want to, you’ve been dying to. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“No one should have noticed,” Gerard said, weakly. “Least of all you. It can’t happen.”

“It has to happen,” Frank countered, shaking his head. He was starting to get irritated now, Gerard could tell, he could sense the beginning of a fight. There was a crackle in the air between them like the tension before a thunderstorm. “You’ve been watching me. All along, you’ve watched me. And I want you. I want you to feel me everywhere, like no one has.”

Gerard had never wanted anything so singularly and so powerfully in all his life, but his hands stayed locked behind his body as though they’d been manacled. “I won’t deny it, Frank. You know I can’t. But that doesn’t mean there can be anything between us.”

“And why not?” Frank planted his hands on his hips. It made his shirt gape open more, and Gerard directed his gaze to a point above Frank’s shoulder instead. “Tell me, Mr. Way, why _can’t_ we be happy?”

Gerard took a deep breath. “Because we’re brothers.”

“I have never—“

“Nor have I,” Gerard was quick to add, holding up his hands. “You are no brother to me, you never have been. But in the eyes of the law, in the eyes of society, we are brothers.”

“I don’t care what society says,” Frank scoffed, closing in on Gerard again. Gerard shook his head, moving back, running away from him like he never imagined he’d need to.

“You should. It’s all that keeps us alive.” Gerard shook his head when Frank started to speak. “If I…if we were to consummate this passion of ours, it wouldn’t be quick tumble to be forgotten and forsaken when the morning dawned. I love you, and. I couldn’t live with that.”

“Do you think that’s what I want?” Frank looked so pathetically distraught at the idea of Gerard misreading him like that, Gerard almost touched him. But he couldn’t do that, not and have any hope of holding onto himself and the decision he’d made.

“Of course not. But I would want to truly have you, and we couldn’t keep that a secret.”

“We could,” Frank murmured. “I know we could.”

“I don’t. And if anyone ever found out…we’re brothers. It would bring unbelievable shame on both your name and mine.”

“I don’t care about my name.” Frank shook his head. “It’s not worth two bits.”

“My name has to serve Mikey, and his children as well.” Gerard hated having to remind Frank of that, but it was the sad truth. Even if he would never have children, and would gladly give up his title for Frank, he couldn’t forget about Mikey. “And even if we did throw all that away, we could never be married.”

“I don’t need a ring to be yours,” Frank said, soft but fierce. Gerard nodded, closing his eyes for just a moment to center himself, let his heart crack just that little bit further.

“But I’d want you to have one. It isn’t fair to you, to ask you never to marry, never to hope for anything else, just to hide forever in the shadows with me.” Gerard sighed. “I _can’t_ Frank. It would ruin us. It would ruin you, and I can’t do that.”

“And what about me?” Frank folded his arms tight across his chest, scowling up at Gerard. “What if my life is empty without you in it, why do you get to decide what I deserve? I like the shadows perfectly well, Gerard, and I would like them even more if I were in them with you.”

“I don’t want that.” It was clear and simple enough, but it still felt monumental once it left Gerard’s lips. For all of this, that was what truly mattered. He loved Frank, but not enough for both of them to be miserable for the rest of their lives, not enough to ruin Mikey’s chances and his family name for generations. Perhaps it was selfish, he certainly suspected that it was, but it was a fact. His name had been his companion, his rock, for his entire life. He’d been taught to uphold the Way name, to act as his grandfathers would have wanted. He may have been disobedient at times, rebelling against the past. But he could not drag his family’s name through the mud.

Frank stared at him, still so wet. Gerard was starting to shiver, and he knew Frank must be cold too. Frank frowned, brow knitting together for a moment, then smoothed his features. “That’s it, then.”

“That’s it,” Gerard echoed. He felt as though he might have suddenly had all his innards scraped out, raw and hollow inside. Frank looked over him, and Gerard felt small and foolish and ugly under his gaze.

“Well, good night.” Frank turned and padded out of the room, leaving a small dark patch on the carpet. Gerard watched him go, and he watched the closed door for a long moment after that before finally stripping out of his own wet clothes and crawling into bed, cold and alone.

*

The next morning, Gerard barely wanted to open his eyes, much less get out of bed and face Frank. The sun was only a crack of light at the edges of his curtains, so the room was dark enough. He wanted to wallow in what had happened, what he’d done. He hadn’t had a proper wallow like this, sprawled in bed, miserable in the dark, since he’d come home. Frank had helped keep him from it. And now, he’d thrown it away. He didn’t regret it, he couldn’t, not when he still belieed he’d doen what he had to. But he hated it.

He didn’t get up until well past lunch, so most of the things were already packed. He frowned at the parcels stacked in the hall and stopped a maid bustling past. “What’s this all about?”

“Heavens if I know,” she said, flush across her nose revealing her annoyance. “Master Iero _insists_ hem ust be gone by sunset, I certainly don’t—“

Gerard missed whatever else she may have said; he was already off down the corridor, taking long strides to carry him as quickly as possible to Frank’s room. There was a footman carrying another trunk out, and Gerard dodged him, entering the room.

It was empty. Not truly empty, of course, the furniture was all still there, but it was emptied of anything that belonged to Frank. Nothing atop the dresser, the armoire hung open and gutted. Gerard looked around, confused. Frank had never had many personal effects, but he had enough to make the space his own. He had things he loved, little things that were from his life before, and presents from the Ways. He was still gaping when Frank entered the room.

“You’re up.”

“What is this?” Gerard turned to face Frank, who was dressed in what were unmistakably traveling clothes. “Why are you doing this?”

“A young man ought to make his way in the world. Isn’t that right?” Frank’s face was carefully flat, so flat it was practically a mask. It didn’t even look like Frank.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to leave,” Gerard whispered. He didn’t know why his voice came out so low and desperate, when it was a perfectly innocent question. Frank looked back at him for a long moment, then shrugged.

“I didn’t think it mattered much. You always encouraged me to explore.” Frank folded his arms across his chest, staring him down. Gerard knew that it was a lie, that Frank hadn’t been _thinking_ about this at all. He was being punished, and he couldn’t deny that he deserved it.

“When will you be returning?”

“I couldn’t say.” Frank looked towards the door, then back at Gerard. “And I don’t expect that you care.”

“That’s not so. Frank, please. You know—“ Gerard bit his lip, stopping himself. The door was open, the corridor bustling with servants and quite possible family. He couldn’t say what he truly felt, and from the look on Frank’s face, he suspected it was purposeful. “I will miss you.”

“I’ll return eventually.” Frank shrugged. “I understand that most young men of means take some sort of journey, if they don’t plan to attend a university.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Gerard bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from offering to go along with. It wouldn’t be entirely out of the ordinary, a concerned older brother chaperoning the younger on his explorations. But they were not brothers, never would be, and they wouldn’t even be able to claim a “brotherly” sort of love if the two of them were traveling alone. Gerard knew that. Just as well as he knew that Frank was lying to him. “Please, don’t.”

Frank gave him a blank stare. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t lie to me.” Gerard swallowed hard, working up the courage he needed. “You don’t plan on returning, do you?”

“No,” Frank said after a moment, looking off towards the wall. “Not as long as I have strength in my body. “

Gerard’s gut felt as though it was full of stones, rolling over each other so he couldn’t settle. His mouth was dry, helplessly so, and he had to wet his lips several times before he managed to speak. “I hope you travel safely.”

“Thank you.” His thanks were just as empty as Gerard’s platitude, but Frank offered Gerard his hand, like they were business associates, vague acquaintances. Gerard took his hand, though the stones in his belly heated and made him feel sick. Frank’s hand was warm and smooth, and he was able to shake it just once before letting go.

*

Mikey and Ray were married the next year. It was a small ceremony, because Ray wasn’t Society and all their wealthy friends didn’t much care about Mikey Way being auctioned off to a Northern brute (or so the rumors said). None of them cared, and it was clear Mikey and Ray were thankful for the quiet wedding. Ray had always been a private man, and despite his ability to fit into any group as well as a chameleon and preternatural talent at stirring up rumors, Mikey never liked his _real_ personal life to be under scrutiny. Frank did not attend. His last letter placed him somewhere in the Mediterranean, and he’d sent well wishes in advance, in case he wasn’t able to make his way home.

With Mikey out of the house, everything changed. It was quieter, which seemed strange, since Mikey had never been a particular source of noise. But Gerard was alone at the dinner table most nights, and he couldn’t say he wasn’t expecting it when his father called him into his office.

With one son married and the other seeming to lack the desire all together, there was little else for his parents to be expected to do for them. His father had worked hard for years, and so had his mother. Gerard had just turned twenty-three when his father told him that he planned to retire to one of their country holdings, leaving the manor and the lordship to Gerard’s care.

It was beyond surreal, watching his parents move out of what had always been their house. Much of what they owned stayed behind, part of the Way family heirlooms, but their bedroom was vacated. He was invited to move in, but he couldn’t manage to do it. It would never be _his_ , not after all these years. He could live in the house until he died and it would still belong to his parents, somewhere deep in his mind. He wondered if his father had struggled with the same feeling, taking over the house. Elena had still lived with their family, of course, it would be inappropriate for a widow of her stature to live alone, but it was still a change. A passing, a giving over, changing of the guard.

Having the house truly to himself, apart, of course, from the servants was in many ways preferable to the strange limbo he’d been living in after Mikey had left. He was no longer expected to live as though his family was still intact, and it afforded him certain freedoms. He entertained occasionally, as he was expected to, but for the most part he kept to himself. He took his meals in his rooms and spent as much as he wanted to on paints and papers and charcoal without worrying what his father would say when he pored over the accounts and demanded to know why he had sent his son for a fine education and gotten back an _artist_.

He kept in close correspondence with Mikey, reviving the ink drawings he used to send during University. Mikey’s letters were the same as ever, though they returned on stationery with the Toro family crest. They visited, of course, over the holidays and when Ray still sold his crops to the Way estate (though with only Gerard living there, much of it was then sold to the local market.) It wasn’t quite the same, but that was how life worked. Mikey had another life now, but he would always be Gerard’s brother and dearest confidant. Gerard got letters from his mother too, of course, usually insisting that it was about time he found someone to keep him company in the house, perhaps a young lady who could keep his bedroom in order or a young man to go riding with (she remembered only the year Gerard knew Frank, and how often he’d gone riding then).

It wasn’t as though he didn’t court. He took several callers, and even went with some to the theatre or to concerts. But none of them held his particular interest, and courting was strange when one was head of the household. He had no one to chaperone him, no one to tell him he needed a chaperone. He could be as wild as he wished, but he discovered that, in truth, he was not so wild at all. Some nights he would rather overindulge himself, sitting in his room with the phonograph and a bottle of wine, but for the most part, he was happy to live a quiet life. “Happy” was perhaps not the right word, for he was lonely. But he was lonely in a sharp, specific way, and that he knew he could not solve. Frank had stopped sending letters around the time that his parents left. He wasn’t sure if Frank still wrote to them, or to Mikey, but the message was quite clear to Gerard. He didn’t wish to waste time mooning after something that could never be; as an older man, he was unsure why he’d been so convinced he and Frank would never be able to have their romance. Mikey hadn’t needed Society connections after all, and in the past few years he’d practically dropped off the social landscape himself. He could have easily kept Frank here with him, and no one would have paid attention. It might have been little more than a need for dramatics, or the reading of too many tragic epic poems, or a vastly inflated sense of his own ability to generate interest, but he knew that whatever the reason, he had lost his chance forever. He’d rejected Frank soundly and completely, and he would not be back. “Not as long as I have strength in my body,” Frank had said, and Gerard believed him entirely. The statements from Way accounts still came to him, mentioning the intervals at which sums of money had been withdrawn, so Gerard knew Frank was still alive. After a year of desperately tracking Frank’s movements, imagining racing his way around the world to catch Frank at long last or lying in wait for him at the bank, he had the accounts tracked by a firm in the city, asking only that he be notified if the withdrawals ceased.

*

It was a rainy Sunday afternoon when Frank returned to Way manor. He came, in the only way he could, unconscious in the arms of a broad young man who seemed about Frank’s age and introduced himself to the butler as Robert. Frank was already being put back into his old bed when Gerard got there. He had to stare for a long moment. Frank’s hair was longer than it had been, dark bangs plastered to his forehead, either from the rain or from sweat. He seemed more solid than he had when he left, despite the fact that he was apparently as weak as ever. But more than any of that, he was _Frank_ and he was back, back in his own bed like he’d never left.

“He didn’t want me to bring him,” Robert mumbled, offering Gerard a crumpled piece of paper. For how big and obviously capable he was, he was obviously uncomfortable in a well-bred home like this one, amidst all the Way family’s finery in his simple white shirt, which looked to be sail cloth. “The address was there. We didn’t know where else to go.”

Gerard turned the piece of paper over in his hands, and discovered that it was an envelope with their address emblazoned on it, written in what had to be Frank’s scrawled handwriting. He traced his thumb over the twin arcs of the “W” and looked back up at Robert. “Thank you. Do you, ah. Is there something that you need? Some way to thank you?”

“No. No, I just wanted to get him someplace safe.”

Gerard nodded, but he waved to one of the maids to go fetch his purse anyway. “Would you mind telling me what happened? Or, ah, who you are?”

“Robert Bryar,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m crew on the, well. I don’t guess it matters. He was sailing back here with us, and he took ill. I thought I ought to get him back somewhere he could be safe. He said this was his home port, so I knew someone around here must care what happens to him.

“I. We do, yes, of course. We care.” Gerard inhaled deeply, his heart starting to pound harder the longer he looked at Frank. He forced himself to look back at Robert. “You say he didn’t want you to bring him here?”

“Fought like a hellcat, for someone that sick.” Robert nodded, then shrugged, arms still folded. “Wasn’t anywhere else for him to go, though, and it didn’t much make sense for him to have your address without good reason. Didn’t have any money left, so I couldn’t take him anywhere else.”

“I am so grateful that you brought him here,” Gerard said, and he was a little horrified by his own sincerity, the desperation that lurked just under his neat tone. The maid returned with his wallet and handed it to him. “Whatever it is that you need, I insist.”

“Really, now, I don’t—“

“I truly must insist,” Gerard repeated, shaking his head. “You’ve saved his life and. You brought him home. I want to.”

Robert eventually allowed Gerard to write him a check (which he promptly made out for far more than Robert had agreed to accept) and for a carriage to take him back to the docks where he could reunite with his shipmates. He wished he could have done more, but for now he was obsessed with Frank’s reappearance. He didn’t have the energy to think about anything else, though he shook Robert’s hand heartily before he departed, promising him an indefinite welcome to Way manor.

The doctor had already been called by the staff when Frank first appeared, so all Gerard needed to do was wait. He sat at the side of the bed, too shy to touch Frank, even while he was unconscious. He didn’t deserve that, not after he’d broken them so irreparably. And why? So he could spend the rest of his life alone? He knew what a fool he’d been, but it was a foolishness that lasted. He couldn’t make it vanish with a few kind words, a sweet apology. He had chased Frank out of the home he’d found, sent him around the world, gone for years. And he’d _told_ his shipmate, even in his illness, that he did not want to be taken back to Way manor. He should have felt at home here, that was what his father had always hoped, and Gerard knew it was because of him that Frank didn’t.

He stayed there, on the edge of the bed, until the doctor came, just waiting. He stepped out of the room, for Frank’s privacy, during the examination, but as soon as the doctor exited the room, Gerard was there.

“His lungs,” the doctor said, just as he’d said every other time, shaking his head. “I hear he was out of the country. It probably did him good, but this climate is taking a toll on him again.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Gerard chewed nervously at his lip, and the doctor sighed. “Are you sure?”

“Your interest is admirable, Lord Way, but all you can do is wait and pray.”

Gerard shrugged. “Then that’s what I’ll do.”

And he did, waited and mopped Frank’s brow with a washcloth when he sweated, moaning through his fever. He let the maid feed Frank water, because he felt it would be inappropriate to touch his lips quite so, but he made sure he was always there. He couldn’t leave Frank alone, not when he finally had him here again.

Frank slept, for days and days. Sometimes he turned about, moaning and crying out in fever dreams, and Gerard had to hold him down, hands on his thin shoulders. His skin was searing hot, even through the boundary of his nightshirt. The nightshirts had to be changed every other day or so; Frank sweated through them with terrible regularity. Gerard, of course, removed himself from the room whenever Frank was changed, but only long enough for that. He took his meals at Frank’s bedside, watching while a maid fed Frank sips of water and of weak broth, when he seemed able to stomach it. The staff brought a larger chair into the room, so Gerard might doze on and off, waiting at Frank’s bedside.

Even with Frank so helpless, Gerard couldn’t help but feel a stab of the familiar longing. He’d managed to calm himself, soothe his lusts away with time and distance, but with Frank within arms-length again, it became clear that he had not succeeded at all. His feelings were only ever under the surface, and now they returned in full force. He was disgusted with himself, thinking of his own carnal urges while Frank lay feverish and asleep. He feared that Frank may not awaken again—“If he can, he will,” was all the doctor would tell him--but he couldn’t help but notice the sweet curve of his lip, the way his dark lashes fanned over his cheeks as he slept. He filled the wastebasket next to the bed with crumpled sketches of Frank asleep, serene and smooth during the good times and the tense clench of his features during bad—pain or fever dreams, Gerard could not say. Each time he completed a sketch, he smashed it into a ball, ashamed at himself for enjoying the form of Frank in his suffering.

After nearly two weeks of waiting and watching, Gerard could no longer stand it. He was useless, half dead from lack of sleep, delirious and desperate. Frank may never come back to himself; he could die in his fever, never knowing that he’d been brought back to the house he so hated. Gerard needed to rest. He called in one of the maids to sit with Frank while he took a much needed (even for him) bath, taking the time to soak in the hot water, smell the salts, trying to make his mind stay far away from the thought of Frank. When he was through with his bath, Gerard went back to Frank’s room, but stopped outside the door. He couldn’t go back in, to the stale air and all the heavy hopes. He went down the hallway instead, back to his own bed for the first time in the weeks since Frank returned. His sheets were cool, a welcome change from the sweaty heat inside Frank’s room, and his bed was far more comfortable than the armchair.

A quick rapping on the door woke him. He was disoriented, unsure of where he was or when, but he managed to get into his dressing robe and answer.

“He’s awake,” was all the maid said, and it was all she needed to. Gerard took off for Frank’s room. The door was open now, and he could hear coughing. His heart pounded, and he almost didn’t want to go in, didn’t want to believe. He stepped into the doorway.

Frank was propped up on a mound of pillows, barely sitting up at all, but his eyes were open. His hands shook a little, taking a glass of water from the maid, but it was clear he was determined to do it himself. Gerard could do nothing but stare, so painfully and completely grateful that he didn’t know what else to do. One of the maids saw him first and came over to him. “The doctor’s been called, sir.”

When she spoke, Frank turned his head, looking over at Gerard. Their eyes met, and Gerard’s breath caught, but it was only for a moment. Frank was seized with a coughing fit, and his head bent as he hacked against his fist.

Gerard backed away, slowly, then fled entirely, downstairs, to wait in the hall for the doctor.

The doctor proclaimed Frank’s triumph over illness a miracle. “He shouldn’t leave his room,” he told Gerard, looking through his notes. “Not for at least a week, don’t let him back on his feet. And certainly no traveling, not until his lungs are at least back to their normal rate of poor function.”

“Yes, sir. Of course.” Gerard nodded and gave the message to be passed to Frank through one of the maids. He had spent weeks with Frank unconscious, but now that he was awake, it was intimidating. It was foolish to be afraid of a small, sickly man, confined to his bed no less. But Gerard was. He knew that now Frank was awake, he could speak. And if he spoke, he could tell Gerard all the reasons he still despised him, reasoning that was well-deserved. Gerard wasn’t sure he could bear it. He would have to face it eventually, but for now, he hid in his rooms, writing hurried notes to Mikey to keep him updated on the situation. Mikey never wrote back immediately, sending a letter or two for every four scrawled notes Gerard sent him, but he was always calm. _This is his home_ , Mikey wrote, a sentiment that Gerard clung to like the last disappearing star. _He’s missed you, I’m sure he has. It will be alright in the end._

*

The first dinner after Frank had recovered was painfully awkward. Gerard had no idea what to say to this man he hadn’t seen in years. They had parted on such dreadful terms; Gerard didn’t know what he could do. He felt like he ought to wait for Frank to make the first leap, to set the tone for what they had become. But Frank didn’t take any steps, just sat silently, eating his soup and staring down at the tablecloth. Gerard couldn’t stand the silence.

“You were on a ship, then?”

“Yes.” Frank looked up at him, like he was the biggest fool in the world. “I left the country.”

“Yes, uh, of course.” Gerard took a bite of his own soup, and a liberal swig of wine. “You seemed close to, uh, Bryar was it? The man who brought you here.”

“I _thought_ we were close,” Frank mumbled, as though Gerard could hear him but speaking loud enough that Gerard had no other choice. He flushed, dark and embarrassed, but it wasn’t his fault that the man had brought Frank home against his will. All Gerard had done was wait, and tend for him while he was sick, like any decent man would do. He still felt enormously guilty. The rest of the meal passed in near silence, apart from the clink of silverware and china.

It was time for dessert, and Gerard bit his lip, waiting with baited breath. Frank looked down at the silver platter and something flickered across his face. Gerard wasn’t sure what it was, but he hoped it was something good. Frank reached forward and plucked a bit of fruit off the plate, observing it in the light, and then looked over at Gerard. “Strawberries?”

“Yes.” Gerard licked his lips, so dreadfully nervous. “I thought. I don’t know.”

“You remembered?” Frank asked, voice quiet and careful. That, at least, Gerard could nod at, even smile a little bit. He knew that he was too hopeful, stupidly so, but he had nothing else to be.

“I remembered. Of course I remembered. I.” Gerard swallowed hard, but there was no reason to be delicate. Frank already despised him, and there was no way that he could lie, not and survive. “I love you.”

Frank snorted and sneered, and Gerard crumbled more than a little at the sound. “Love? That’s what you call love, then? I wouldn’t like to be you.”

“Neither would I,” Gerard said honestly. He looked down at the platter of strawberries, and already he felt stupid for making a gesture so sloppy. It wasn’t as though Frank could be won back like that, maybe when he was needy, a boy who was in love as well. But now he’d traveled the world, and come back to find Gerard as lonely and pathetic as ever.

Frank shook his head, taking a bite of the strawberry. He finished it, leaving the green top at the side of his plate, and took another. He studied it for a moment, then looked back at Gerard. “You got these for me?”

“I had them specially brought in.” Gerard shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t eat them much anymore.” It was quite an admission, for him, but he’d already offered bigger and been laughed at. It couldn’t hurt to share the rest of it. “It was that day, when we were eating them. That was when I knew I loved you.”

“You didn’t.” Frank frowned over at him. “This isn’t a book of poems, Gerard. It’s not a, a watercolor that you can hang on your wall. This is my life, and just because I’m not from your stock doesn’t mean that you can manipulate me like this. You may not believe it, but people who work for a living are still human. I’m tired of being tugged around on your leash.”

“What in god’s name—“ Gerard bit his tongue, cutting himself off. “I’m not toying with you, Frank. At least, I’m not trying to. It was never my intention to hurt you. I was. I was a fool. I was young, too, you know. Stupid.”

“That’s beyond any doubt.” Frank was still watching him, looking suspicious. “If you loved me so much, why would you send me off?”

“I didn’t. At least, I didn’t mean to.” Gerard sighed. “Watching you leave broke my heart. And then you didn’t come back, and. And I realized that I was wrong. We could live in the shadows if we wanted to. We could be happy there, I think, as long as we had each other.”

Frank peered at him for a long moment, like he might have been staring into Gerard’s soul. “If that’s so, what if I asked you to take me up to your bedroom?”

Gerard’s breath caught and he could only nod for a moment, before recovering enough air to murmur, “I would be so glad.”

“Then for god’s sake,” Frank said, looking back at Gerard, with a heat in his eyes that Gerard had never thought he would see outside of his fantasies. “Take me to your bed, at long last.”

It seemed to take ages to get upstairs, though Gerard pushed away from the table almost immediately after Frank spoke. He didn’t touch him, afraid to ruin the moment, to frighten him off, to _break_ this somehow, when it seemed like it was so right. He couldn’t believe Frank was trusting him, giving him the second chance that he had so desperately hoped for. He opened his bedroom door and let Frank pass him before closing and locking the door securely behind them. The last thing they needed was a curious maid coming in as they tried to finally allow themselves some happiness.

Frank looked around the room, as though he was curious, but he moved in next to the mirror, leaning back against the wall and waiting for Gerard to come to him. It was a test of some sort, Gerard was almost sure, but he couldn’t take the time to puzzle it out. He crossed to stand in front of Frank, and took a deep breath before reaching out.

When Gerard finally touched Frank’s skin with true meaning, with the knowledge of what was to come, it was a revelation. It was only his fingertips against the back of Frank’s hand, but Frank flushed and looked up at him with those eyes that had so allured him when they were all he could see of Frank’s face. He was every bit as lovely as the first moment Gerard had seen his face—lovelier, even, with a set to his jaw that had come as the years passed and the very faintest creases that wrote deeper into his skin when he smiled. He’d been smiling a lot, while he was gone. Gerard stepped closer, and brushed his thumb gently against Frank’s throat. He marveled at the freedom to touch, the dark understanding now between them. It would never be acceptable, never be right, but neither of them cared. They needed each other, more than they’d ever needed the cuffs of society that had bound their hands for so long. Frank shuddered when Gerard’s thumb stroked his Adam’s apple, and Gerard wanted to feel that again. He lifted his other hand, reaching in close to unbutton the buttons tight at Frank’s collar, holding him in. Once it was undone, there was barely a triangle of more skin, but it was skin that Gerard had never been allowed to touch before. He ran his thumb there next, tucking it underneath the crisp whiteness of Frank’s starched shirt. Frank’s weight shifted, and he leaned back against the wall, still watching Gerard and still silent. His tongue flicked out regularly though, wetting his lips until they shone, and Gerard knew that Frank’s silence had nothing to do with reluctance.

He undid Frank’s tie next, loosened when the collar had been released. He was able to tug it free and hang it carefully over the mirror. In the mirror, he could see the flush of his own cheeks matching that in Frank’s, the way both of their eyes seemed almost wild in the dim light. But he couldn’t keep his eyes on the reflection, not when Frank was here, in the flesh, right in front of him. Frank’s vest was next, only three buttons and it could be slid off. Frank moved away from the wall so Gerard could get it off, then leaned back again when Gerard undid the first button below the collar. He kept unbuttoning, working down the front of Frank’s chest with slow precision. It was like unwrapping a present that had been decorated many times over, for every button revealed only the softer white of Frank’s undershirt. But even an undergarment was a treat, that much closer to Frank’s bare skin, to his warmth and his heart. Once Frank’s shirt was unbuttoned, tugged free of his trousers, Gerard took his wrists in hand, one at a time, removing his cufflinks and unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves. He guided Frank away from the wall with his hands around one of Frank’s wrists then divested him of the shirt. It was folded then placed carefully on the dresser.

Frank stood, his skin tanned against the white undershirt, even more obvious when the span of his shoulders and his arms could be seen as well as his collarbones, a hint of chest. He held his color, even after his bout with illness, and Gerard wanted to know more about where he’d been, find out all the secrets he’d learned while he was away. He hoped Frank hadn’t learned about _this_ , though he knew it was foolish to imagine that a handsome young man, out in the world with no responsibilities, would not partake in some of life’s greater pleasures.

“May I?” It was the first time either of them had spoken since coming to the bedroom, and Gerard’s voice sounded strained, too desperate. But Frank just smiled and nodded, reaching forward to wrap his hands around Gerard’s wrists and guide them to the hem of his undershirt. Gerard flushed, but he obeyed Frank’s silent order, pulling the undershirt up and over Frank’s head while Frank lifted his arms. It set his torso to its fullest advantage, the muscles in his arms and chest standing out. There was a hint of black, and Gerard frowned down, unable to resist pressing his thumb against one of the black birds on Frank’s belly. That, at least, was still soft, though the raised line of the birds was so foreign to Gerard he could hardly believe they were there.

“Do you like them?” Frank murmured, letting his fingertips rest on the back of Gerard’s wrist.

“You look like a sailor.” Gerard licked his lips, and it wasn’t a bad thing. He couldn’t help but look at the birds and imagine his own ink etched into Frank’s skin. “Who did this to you?”

“Shipmate in a port down in the south seas.” Frank shrugged, his belly moving under Gerard’s fingers when he breathed. His breaths were getting heavier. “He said I was practically one of them, I ought to be able to prove myself.”

“I thought you weren’t a sailor.”

“I’m not. I wasn’t.” Frank shook his head, eyelashes fluttering while he took a moment to think before speaking. “I just travelled with them, for a little while. They took a liking to me.”

A rush that was almost hot in its iciness flooded Gerard’s belly with cold discomfort and nerves. He pressed his thumbnail into the flesh of Frank’s belly, just past the bird’s beak. How could anyone not like Frank, much less a group of lonely, sea-hardened sailors? They much have been thrilled to have a pretty young thing like Frank below decks with them. “I’m not surprised.”

Frank looked back at Gerard, frowning a little, and Gerard hated how transparent he was. “Hey. What is it?”

“Nothing. “ Gerard shook his head, trying to convince himself that it didn’t matter. He traced the outline of the bird with his thumb again. “It’s nothing, Frank.”

“Bullshit.” Gerard jumped a little at the language and Frank sighed. “You’re bothered. Is it the tattoos?”

“No. No, I like those.” Gerard licked his lips, and he hadn’t planned on having to _talk_ with Frank about this. He’d hoped they could come upstairs and fall into his bed and not come out for a few days. He shrugged on shoulder. “I just hope that I’m, uh, satisfactory. Since your shipmates took such a _liking_ to you.”

Frank narrowed his eyes, staring at Gerard for a long moment, during which Gerard turned horribly crimson. He could hardly believe he’d actually said that, and he didn’t want Frank to think he was a terrible jealous brute, even if he was. “There’s no need to be jealous, Gerard.”

“Because you’re sure that I’ll do just fine?” Gerard asked, and good gracious, he couldn’t believe being with Frank was causing all of this to spout out of his mouth unimpeded. Frank snickered, and shook his head.

“Because there’s nothing to be jealous _of_. Honestly, Gerard, you think I just went off and let every one of the Queen’s sailors have his way with me?”

“Those didn’t sound like the Queen’s sailors,” Gerard said, pouting a little, but there was a rush of relief and arousal at Frank’s words. “So you’re, ah.”

“As untouched and pure as I was the day I left you? Not precisely.” Frank smirked. “But I am a virgin.”

“Oh.” Gerard licked his lips and flushed. “That’s interesting.”

“Perhaps you ought to ponder it for a while,” Frank said. He shook his head, rubbing the back of Gerard’s hand. “Come on. We’re finally. It’s time. I’ve been waiting too long for this.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Gerard flexed his hand under Frank’s touch.

“No. Forget about it.” Frank wrapped his fingers around Gerard’s wrist, tugging him gently closer. “I don’t care anymore. We’re still stalling.” He kept tugging, further and further until their lips finally met, for the second time.

It had been nearly four years since the last time they kissed, and if anything, it was even better now. It was sharper, hotter after all that waiting, all that pining and pain and desperation. It all led to this, lips pressed sweetly together, and Gerard had no earthly idea how he’d managed to push Frank away before. This time they kissed, just standing there, for a long while. It was Frank who pulled back, grinning, and nudged at Gerard. “It’s your turn.”

Gerard flushed, but he nodded, switching places with Frank so he was the one leaning slightly against the wall. Frank undressed him much more quickly, quickly enough that Gerard wondered if he might have had some other form of practice. But it was his vest, open, then his shirt, and then his undershirt was off and the pair of them were standing there shirtless. Gerard didn’t have any art on him, just a fish belly, but Frank cupped his hands around Gerard’s waist. It was skin on skin in a way Gerard had never felt, and he leaned into the touch, kissing Frank again, long and hard.

The kisses were nice, but after wanting for so long, Gerard knew it wasn’t what either of them was craving. He convinced himself to pull away and smooth his hand down Frank’s bare side. “Would you. I mean, could we?”

“I’d love to,” Frank mumbled, grinning at him. Gerard had to grin back, and he let Frank tug him back and back, until they were next to the bed. “We should get rid of the rest of these first.”

Frank reached down and rested his fingers on the waist of Gerard’s trousers. Gerard flushed, all the way down his neck and chest. Shirtless he could handle; he’d been half-naked amongst school friends, and even kissed a few of them. But they had never moved ahead like this, because that crossed the line of _friends_ , and most of them had sweethearts. But Frank had no sweetheart, and neither did he, and he longed to finally know. So he nodded, and fixed his eyes on the wall; he couldn’t watch Frank while he undid Gerard’s trousers, pushing them down over his hips so he was left just in socks and shorts. He stepped out of his trousers, then dropped his hands to Frank’s fastenings. It was incredibly intimate, but then Frank was in shorts as well. Gerard could see the shape of him through them, and it made his own cock stir. Frank, he realized a moment later, could _see_ and know, and he turned scarlet again. Frank laughed.

“Believe me, Gerard, I’ve waited a long time for your cock. Don’t be shy.”

That only made Gerard flush a darker red, but he let Frank shepherd him into bed. He stretched out on his side, and beamed when Frank laid down beside him, leaning in to kiss him again. This time they could get closer and closer until they were practically pressed together, chests and knees bumping and brushing together. It didn’t take too much kissing before Gerard’s cock was more than stirring, and he whimpered when the muscle of Frank’s thigh pressed up hard against him. He looked at Frank, who was flushed and grinning half-mad, looking enchanted.

“You feel good,” Gerard murmured, ashamed to say it even though it was patently obvious.

“So do you,” Frank said, though, and he pressed in closer instead of pulling away. Gerard’s hips stuttered against him, rubbing himself against Frank’s thigh with a moan. Frank traced his hand down to Gerard’s hip. “Take them off? I will too.”

Gerard nodded without considering it, because there was nothing else he could do. Frank wanted them nude together, and Gerard wasn’t about to refuse him anything. He scooted back, sighing a little at the loss of Frank’s warmth and touch. He shoved his shorts down, and tugged his socks off too, since they were in a lull. His cock felt ridiculous, thick and flushed and too obvious against his thigh. He looked back at Frank, who had taken his own shorts off; Gerard had to meet his gaze, though. His eyes were huge and dark, and he was only looking for a moment before surging forward to kiss Gerard. He rolled Gerard onto his back, moving on top of him so he was pressed against him from sternum to thighs. Gerard’s cock rode in the hollow of Frank’s hips, and he could feel Frank’s cock, hot and hard, against his own thigh. It was captivating, delicious, and Gerard thrust happily against Frank, sweat and precome giving him a smooth glide along Frank’s skin.

He brought himself to completion that way, thrusting against Frank’s hip, and collapsed a little, back into the bed once he’d spilled. He’d never been this tired after taking his own pleasure, and he presumed it was Frank’s touch that made him feel so satisfied. Frank, who was not yet satisfied, still whining and rubbing himself against Gerard. Gerard swallowed hard and wrapped his arm around Frank’s back, hand resting, palm flat, on the sweaty small of Frank’s back. Frank moaned and Gerard felt the hot rush of it when he spilled over Gerard’s hip.

Frank rolled off Gerard, onto his back, and they lay there, sticky and flushed, for a long moment. It was so simple a thing, but something they’d both waited so long for. Gerard tipped his head to the side so he could look over at Frank, the shape of his lips, his nose, his lashes dark against his cheeks. Frank was beautiful, and Gerard couldn’t believe how long he’d been without him. That he’d managed to live after chasing Frank away. He knew he sounded desperate and pathetic, but he couldn’t help it. “Don’t leave.”

“Hmm?” Frank’s lashes fluttered and he looked over at Gerard. From this close, his eyes nearly seemed to glow. Gerard knew he was in a flight of poetic fancy, but he’d finally consummated a years long passion; he thought he deserved some poetry.

“I don’t want you to leave again.” He swallowed hard, and once his throat was clear, it was as though the words couldn’t stop coming. “I was wrong. I was so wrong. I was such a fool, I don’t even know what I was thinking. I’ve missed you so much, and I don’t ever want you to leave. I couldn’t stand it if you did, I just—“

“Gerard. It’s alright.” Frank leaned in to kiss him, and that did an admirable job of making the words stop. “I don’t want to leave either. I never wanted to leave.”

Gerard sighed. “Then why did you stay away so long?” He had to ask it eventually, and it might as well be now, before anything got too deep, before they were both mired in this. Frank sighed too.

“I didn’t want to leave, but. It was good for me.” Gerard made a face and Frank shook his head. “It’s true. I’d never gone anywhere, never done anything. You went to university, at least. Do you really think I should have stayed in this house for my whole life?”

“Well. No.” Gerard exhaled hard and moved closer so he could rest his chin against Frank’s shoulder. “Did you really have to stay so very long? You could have lived your life and then come home.”

“I didn’t think this was my home anymore.” Frank shrugged. “You rejected me. Fairly spectacularly, if you recall. I was young. I. I couldn’t live here, you know that.”

“I know,” Gerard said. He licked his lips and closed his eyes. He didn’t want anything to be hard any more, didn’t want anything else to have to hurt. “I’m sorry. Still.”

“Don’t tell me.” Frank’s hand was warm, cupping his cheek. “Just show me. Prove it to me.”

“I will.” Gerard squeezed his eyes shut, leaning into Frank’s touch. “By god, you know I will.”

*

Frank’s mouth was hot, like a brand on Gerard’s thigh. He wouldn’t be surprised to look down and see the mark of Frank’s lips left all along his leg. But that wasn’t where Frank’s mouth would stop, not tonight.

“You don’t have to,” Gerard mumbled, even as he strained against Frank’s hand on his hip, holding him down. “You don’t—“

“Gerard, stop talking.” Frank looked up at him, grinning, and the smirk twisted his lips and Gerard _knew_ what those lips were about to do. He ran his fingernails lightly down the inside of Gerard’s thigh; Gerard shuddered and moaned softly. “I want to. I’ve always wondered.”

“Always?” Gerard couldn’t help but sound incredulous, and Frank giggled. He didn’t ever get tired of hearing Frank’s laugh, and he never stopped being relieved that it was the same one he remembered.

“Not _always_. Since meeting you?” Frank licked his lips slowly. “Definitely.”

“Oh lord,” Gerard groaned, tipping his head back. Frank took that moment, apparently, as a cue to lean forward and close his lips around the head of Gerard’s cock. Gerard yelped, surprised and overwhelmed, and looked down at Frank. He had to see Frank’s lips, always so plush and wonderful, stretching to take him in. And Frank took him down further, slowly and carefully but surely, slurping his way along Gerard’s cock. He couldn’t take much of him in, but Gerard was already utterly flabbergasted at what he could do. “Frank. God, Frank.”

Frank pulled off, and Gerard’s cock shone with saliva once free. He felt strangely cold without Frank’s mouth around him, though he enjoyed the grin. “Is it good?”

“It’s incredible. Of course it is.” Frank ducked back down and took Gerard’s cock in hand, kissing up the side. Gerard moaned, unable to give another answer. He hoped that one would be satisfactory; he counted it accepted when Frank flicked his tongue over the head. Of course, that made him fall apart all over again. It seemed quite a cycle, but one Gerard never wanted to get out of. Frank’s mouth was hot and so wet, his tongue teasing and sweet against Gerard’s sensitive skin. Gerard didn’t know how he was expected to keep control of himself, when Frank felt so desperately, painfully good.

“You taste wonderful,” Frank whispered, before he took Gerard back into his mouth. Gerard made a garbled, needy sound that he could hardly even understand as coming from his own throat. Frank chuckled around his cock, the vibrations making Gerard start to come apart. He barely had a moment to squeak out something that may have been _Frankie, jesus_ before he was coming hard, into Frank’s mouth.

It was almost mystifying, the way Frank spluttered but swallowed anyway. Knowing that his seed was inside Frank now was strangely satisfying, a different kind of pleasure than before. His chest heaved for a few moments while he recovered his breath, then looked down at Frank. “Was that acceptable?”

“That,” Frank said, and Gerard shivered to hear a hint of roughness to his voice, “was the most singularly strange experience of my life. And I spent two years in uncharted territory.

“Oh.” Gerard flushed, looking down at his knees. “I’m dreadfully, ah, sorry, I didn’t. I mean, of course I wouldn’t—“

“It was quite acceptable,” Frank cut in, giving Gerard a small smile. “It was, in fact, practically enjoyable. I recommend you try it yourself sometime.”

“Really?” Gerard eyes widened, intrigued. “It was that enjoyable?”

“Oh yes, certainly.” Frank nodded, reaching down to unsubtly adjust his cock in his thin cotton shorts. “I heartily recommend it. I think it would do you a world of good.”

“Perhaps later,” Gerard said, musing with a little smile. “I would have to properly recover from this before I could be expected to be of any use to you at all, of course.”

“Oh,” Frank said, rolling his eyes. “of course.”

*

 _Frank has returned from his travels for good, I think,_ Gerard wrote. He paused and pressed the end of the pen to his lower lip, thinking for a moment before continuing on. _He plans to find an apartment in the city, though he will of course be staying here while he looks. Proper lodgings are quite difficult to find in this day and age. One must be in a fashionable part of town, but not so fashionable that it becomes_ un _fashionable by the time you move in. Neighbors must also be considered, of course. And the proximity to the theatre, the clubs, the restaurants, the concert halls. You know how Frank enjoys his culture. And the apartment itself must be perfect. If one is about to pay a landlord for the privilege of sleeping in his rooms, those rooms best be most impressive. The landlord too should be agreeable; I’ve heard too many dreadful tales from my classmates to be willing to send poor Frank out on his own without proper assistance._

He turned the page and tilted his head, considering for a moment. _I’m certainly glad to hear that the calves are doing well. You’ve turned into a regular farmhand, with all the time you seem to spend out with the livestock. Perhaps if there was a different sort of little one around, you would get to spend more of your days in your lovely house instead of out in the straw. I know, I know, mother probably has sent you more pamphlets than you know what to do with, but there really are some lovely little darlings at the orphanage. Frank and I saw them out looking at ducks in the park the other day, while we were searching for his new lodgings. Precious indeed; I may just end up with one if I look at them long enough, too darling to keep from bringing home. Much how Frank feels about his dogs. We’re up to seven, now, and I’m almost positive there are puppies on the way (all of which we will have to keep, of course). Truth be told, it’s nice to have some life in the house again, even if it is life on four legs and two pair of paws._

 _I hope we’ll see you before your busy time starts; perhaps you two could stop by some evening for a light supper and some conversation? You know we always love to see you. Please tell Ray that I know he’s capable of holding a pen, even in that massive tanned paw he calls a hand, and I will be insulted for a good month if he does not write me back._

 _Your brother,  
Gerard_

Gerard paused, scanning over the letter, then turned it over to the back. He dipped his pen again and began to sketch. The lines and shapes, curves and shading, all moved together, working and molding until it was an image, of Frank asleep. He could draw it from memory now, after the dozens he drew in Frank’s illness and so many long nights of watching him doze, unable to believe that they were finally sharing a bed, like Gerard had only ever dreamed he would be able to. He shaped Frank’s eyebrows, his cheek bones, the line of his nose. His bangs, falling dark in front of his face, the careful shell of his ear, and finally his lips, just barely curved upwards, like he was having a good dream.

He didn’t caption it. Mikey would understand.


End file.
